


Vestigia Tui

by Elirah



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/M, Gen, Insomnia, M/M, Pining, Post-Season/Series 03, Pregnancy, Psychosomatic pain, Season 3 Finale, Tea, puppy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2044998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elirah/pseuds/Elirah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John suffers from insomnia and seeks help, but deny to admit that certain things are never gonna be the same.<br/>Post-Season 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vestigia Tui

**Author's Note:**

> English is my second language, as you will notice. If there is anybody willing to correct following parts (there will be few), send me a message (please! :) )

 

**1.**

_Insomnia again. Can we book an appointment for Monday? John._

_My schedule's all filled up, sorry. See you on Wednesday. Ella._

What's the use of exchanging private numbers then? John would snap if he only wasn't too exhausted. His fingers were trembling and it wasn't  _entirely_ connected to the fact that he's already drunk more than six cups of nasty, strong Yorkshire tea (all of them with the same slice of lemon inside).

It was supposed to be calming – and peace was probably what he needed – but in practice turned out to be horrid. Soon, John's brain started associating tea time not with a relaxing moment, like it used to, but with something very,  _very_ toilsome. Sipping tea at three o'clock in the morning wasn't probably the best way to treat restlessness and that was around the time John kept waking up at for almost two weeks in a row.

Now it was only five p.m.

Appropriate for tea rather than a nap, but since Mary fell asleep an hour ago, having claimed she is turning into some sort of enormous, female sloth, he decided to take a shot at it as well. He felt  _really_ tired, drained – more than after coming back to London from Afghanistan and at the time he was unable to imagine a person could even feel more fatigued. Because that, he thought, wouldn't mean "tired" anymore but literary  _dead_.

He was mistaken, though. It wasn't like being dead, just very old. Well, he wasn't that young anyway. Not eighty, like what his permanently painful limbs seemed to believe, but not thirty either. Now, when he considered it, that must've been one of the reasons people tended to start a family in their twenties or early thirties when they were still full of energy and capable of feeling joy for no particular reason. On the other hand, most people at the age of thirty eight were not used to sharing bed with most likely psychotic wife with a pathological tendency to constantly lie through her teeth, and an assassin on top of it.

So maybe his age wasn't the main issue here. Just maybe.

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated :) I will not bite.


End file.
